


Forever from the Other Side of Fear

by Oaklin



Series: Forever Everything [13]
Category: Combat Zone Wrestling, International Wrestling Syndicate, Pro Wrestling Guerrilla, Professional Wrestling, Ring of Honor, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Blood, I may be going overboard with the crack tags, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Swearing, all the things, also regular angst, descriptions of semi gross things, mentions of various other wreslters, non-consensual sadomasochism, obligatory Kevin Steen warning, stealth angst, weird introspective musings about awful things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 06:45:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7924654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oaklin/pseuds/Oaklin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look back at some of our new Universal Champion's past accomplishments.</p>
<p>*ridiculously over the top fannish jubilation in these waters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever from the Other Side of Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: Beware, here there be very long winded rambly notes. I am not fit for coherency yet at all. You all know exactly why too.  
> *rolls around on floor squealing in fannish delight*
> 
> Hello hello!
> 
> Aw shnap, who wants to play the pronoun game? Anyone? No? Well too bad, because for whatever reason, this one came out super weird and ...well, not vague, I'm pretty sure that it is REALLY obvious who's point of view this is from, but it might be a little confusing? I dunno, the pronoun game stops at the very end so... It might not be to everyone's taste so be warned, but I kinda like it. It's like he's dissociating so hardcore here, that he can't even bring himself to think names at this point. It does make it kinda hard to read though. I'm sorry if that ruins it for you. Also, there is quite a bit of obsessive repetition in this in places, so if that gets on your nerves, read with caution.
> 
> I know this doesn't really fit the format of the rest of the series but it definitely takes place in the same timeline as the rest. It's basically like a bunch of snippets of things to come I guess. While we are on the topic of meta and writing styles, holy shit writing about the actual matches is the fucking worst. I have a new appreciation for anyone who can pull it off, because fuck it is a pain in the ass. I was watching a few of these back in the sparse moments I had to spare for what research I could pull outta my ass and I almost wish I hadn't bothered. I needed the refresher sure, but trying to think of something KAYFABE to write while I'm listening to John Cena VERY LOUDLY carry on a whole goddamn conversation while Kevin tries (REALLY unsuccessfully, though I appreciate the effort) to drown him out with smack talk is an experience I was not prepared for. Goddamn wrestling, I swear -.-
> 
> So anyway, this is basically my long, loud, wailing victory scream for Monday. Seriously, I would have fallen to my knees and bellowed like an opera singer if everyone in my house hadn't been passed out. I'm still not over it, at all and I don't know if I ever will be to be honest. I just kinda want to watch it about a million more times and sob grossly at the top of my lungs about my tiny indie!bbys and how utterly perfect they are in every way possible.

He turns sixteen to the tune of polite clapping as he stands tall over his opponent, the wind howling outside the tiny gymnasium they’re in. It’s badly lit and the crowd is mostly disinterested and he can see Rougeau off to the side, a bit out of the way, yelling at someone and waving his arms animatedly.

He wants... well, he doesn’t know what he wants but he is not sure it’s this. Staggering around a poorly lit abandoned building while gingerly holding his abdomen, stepping over a prone - _wounded_ \- wrestler, the crowd only half paying attention to what is going on in the ring.

He blinks sweat out of his eyes, glancing around as the ref lifts his arm. The crowd finally picks up a bit as the end of the match is solidified, someone in the back row letting out a somewhat loud whoop and a slightly more enthusiastic applause picking up.

He can’t help the smug grin that curls across his face before he lets out a triumphant shout, jerking his wrist out of the refs grasp and hoping up on the turnbuckle to share in the crowds celebration. Someone starts chanting his name and the rest of the crowd pick it up, the sound overwhelming in the small space.

He grips the top rope and listens to them. Listens to the hymn of his name.

Listens to the groaning of his fallen foe.

He can hear the echoes of all the things to come and all the things that have been. Here, at the **beginning of all things** , he stands tall in the ring and lets it all in.

He sinks his **fingers** into his _future_ and **_breaths_** in the **_victory_**.

- ** _yes_** -

* * *

The CZW crowd is harsher, but in a different way. Instead of disinterested clapping, it’s garbage being hurled through the air and belligerent cursing he gets this time. Still, he stands tall over Franky’s collapsed form and it is a victory of sorts, so he turns to the crowd, flashing them a vicious smile and dodging a beer bottle.

Rapidly hoping up on the ropes, he hoists the heavy title in the air, jittery success and elated triumph singing through his veins to the tune of the crowds irate, drunken dissatisfaction.

He laughs in glee as he hopes down form the ropes, exaggerating his movements tauntingly as he sidesteps a slow moving projectile, flashing the jackass in the front row who threw it a condescending smile and being rewarded with a new wave of rage.

He grins smugly, unbuckling the belt and throwing the strap over his shoulder, wishing for all he was worth that he had a pair of shades to throw on as he strolls to the back, jauntily skipping to the tune of the audiences frenzied indignation.

* * *

When they _finally_ win-

They.

- ** _they_** -

Because it is **_they_ ** now- though he partly wishes it wasn’t, while also wondering how he went so long being _him_ and not **_they_**.

**_They_ ** feels like so much _more_.

**_They_ ** feels like **everything** he has ever - ** _wanted_** -

Like **everything** he has even **_needed_**.

- _home_ -

When **_they_ ** win, holding the gold high and proud, the gold that is _**theirs** _ now-

(and if **that** isn’t just the best fucking thing in the **world** , he doesn’t know what _is_ )

-this time there is no polite clapping, or garbage, or belligerent assholes. This time-

- _the only time that has **mattered**_ -

-this time there is only the roar of the crowd in his ears and the sweaty, warm, - _alive_ \- body pressed so close to his and the adrenaline pulsing through the both of **_them_**.

This time he knows exactly what he _wants_.

This time he _has_ exactly what he **wants** and it is **everything** he ever thought it would be plus so much **_more_ ** he had never even dreamed of.

When **_they_ ** win, finally, it’s to the beat of a thunderous crowd and the blood pumping furiously through **_their_ ** own veins as **_they_ ** share in a joined victory. **_That_ ** smile comes out, spreading across a mostly hidden face and he has never been-

- _happier_ -

**_They_ ** win and it is everything he has ever fucking - ** _wanted_** -

* * *

It _feels_ like a victory, even though it isn’t one.

Not really.

Well, he supposes that it is, in the most philosophical way possible.

In a strange way he feels at peace, even as his pulse quickens every time he remembers pale flesh beneath his fingers. A warm **everything** pressed up against his body, trembling with the force of those tender tears, even as he himself has a world rocking realization.

Here they stand, at **the end of all things** , their tears mingling even as he realizes that if there is to be a _him_ , there can be no **_them_**.

Not if he wants to be _free_.

So he frees himself from his voluntary slavery, reaches out with hands that are **steady** and _sure_ for the first time in a **_long_ ** time and unchains himself, lashes out at his **_jailer_ ** with steel and bathes in the crimson streams that flow from the cage he is tearing down.

(despite this, he finds it difficult to enjoy, having a hard time bringing himself to actually look at **_him_** , laying prone on the mat like **_his_ ** whole world has ended with one kick to the balls and a chairshot to the head)

_Still_.

It feels like **righteous triumph**.

(it also _feels_ like death, like he has **ended** something that will never have a _beginning_ again.)

(it doesn’t **hurt** him the way it so clearly _**hurts** **him**_ )

(he just feels **numb** )

It feels like a **victory** , even though _it isn’t_ one, not **_really_**.

A _triumph_ in its own right though, he supposes.

A victory of a different kind, but a victory none the less. A shedding of useless skin. A purging of a poison that eats one alive from the inside out. A peeling back of a layer of baggage that is unnecessary.

A dropping of dead weight, if you will.

Ha, wouldn’t Cornette be proud, the hypocritical fucker that he is?

Not that that even **mattered** now, how anyone saw him or what anyone thought of him. After so much of his career spent being a prisoner to the _burning light_ he could never seem to tear his eyes away from, he was finally exonerated.

He had finally kicked his worst **addiction**.

He had decontaminated himself of all the insidious miasma that had polluted his _thoughts_ for so **long**.

He was no longer drunk on the splendor of _**his smile**_ and getting clean had never felt so _liberating_.

Admittedly, he might be a going through a _little_ withdrawal, but it would fade in time.

The slightly sick feeling in his gut would pass eventually. It was totally _understandable_ that he would feel a little **lost** right now. Amputating an **infected** body part would maybe make one feel a _slightly_ nauseating sense of **loss** and a _hopeless_ , unhealthy **longing** for said body part.

It was only natural that he _**ached**_ -

(NO)

He closes his eyes and listens to the footsteps that he knows without opening the door are Cabana’s, ready to read him the riot act for all of his perceived sins.

Nothing _matters_. Cabana can scream at the top of his lungs about all that he has _ruined_ and look at him with **disappointed** disgust all he wants.

He did what he _had_ to do.

* * *

He doesn’t feel numb this time.

He wonders how **_he_ ** feels, as **_he_ ** stands tall above, _triumphant_ and **victorious** and **_resplendent_ ** and - _not mine, **never** mine, **can’t**_ \- as the crowd comes up to their feet as one, to sing the _anthem_ of **_his_ ** song, their voices _loud_ and **powerful** and _**thunderous**_.

(we used to be victorious _together_ )

(we used to be _**everything**_ )

- _not anymore_ -

(why? he **_loved_ ** me once and **_i_** -)

- _you broke all of the very **universe** the two of you stood on, at **the end of all things** one year ago, or don't you **remember**?_ -

(no)

- _you made **him** cry for so **long** , now he is **free** of you, **forever**_ -

fuck

He doesn’t feel _numb_ this time. He wonders if this is how **_he_ ** felt, a hundred lifetimes ago, when it was him standing _tall_ and **victorious** and **_free_ ** while **_he_ ** lay sobbing into the mat, a _beautiful dream_ of goals and **forever** striped from **_him_ ** by the very person **_he_ ** meant to _share_ them with.

Now it is **_his_ ** turn to spread **_his_ ** wings, shake off the restraints and _fly_ , leaving all that had _remained_ of **_them_ ** laying in a heap on the mat, sobbing out _bitter tears_ and **painful heaves** of **_broken hearts_** , _minds_ and **promises**.

He doesn’t - ** _feel_** \- numb this time.

* * *

It feels like the **dawn** of a _new age_ when he finally walks back into the place that was once _home_.

A place that was _once_ home but now feels more like some **dream** he had, _many life times ago_.

He still hasn’t decided if it was a **dream** or a _nightmare_.

Regardless, he will not be deterred. They want to be done with him, but he isn’t done with them, not by a _long shot_.

(it's not over until he **says** it is over)

- _ **never** over_ -

His career is reinstated with one **vindicating execution** , to the roar of a crowd that almost deafens him and under a future so bright it nearly blinds him.

Not so much that he doesn't see it coming, of course. If there is one thing he has learned from all of this, it’s that **_they_ ** are nothing if not _predictable_.

_Predictable_ and **inseparable** , no matter how much they might **_both_ ** wish other wise.

It was slightly ironic, he supposes. All that time spent reaching out with gentle hands to catch **_him_** , relishing the feel of that skin under his fingers before placing **_him_ ** safely on the canvas.

Now it just felt like preparation, as he hurls the both of them off the apron and through a table, cackling gleefully the whole way.

He feels giddy with the _fires_ of **destruction** that flow through his veins and he preens with his wholesale slaughter of **_all_ ** who _**stand in his way**_.

He grabs **_that_ ** face in his bloody fingers and croons the _truest words_ he has ever spoken, purrs them into the ear of the only one who can really even _understand_ what the words even **mean** -

- ** _forever_** -

-and then laughs out loud, the pure undiluted joy of **_everything_ ** taking his breath away.

He was wrong, in that nightmare he had once-

(a year is a _long_ time, but that doesn’t **matter** now)

-where his **_light_ ** abandoned him, at the **beginning** of all that was **_him_ ** without him.

He had thought then, that that was the end for him.

For **_them_**.

But he was wrong, it wasn't an end with a beginning that excluded him.

**_Forever_ ** had been laying at his feet the whole time, waiting for him to pick it up and - ** _take_** -

He gets up out of the rubble of the _past_ , pausing only to wave merrily down at his _**forever**_ before staggering off into the **future**.

He is finally ready to find out what has been waiting for him on the other side.

* * *

It is the _end_ of so many things that don't belong in Ring of Honor.

It is the **beginning** of so much more.

_**More** _ than they deserve, but he can be magnanimous. He can give them what they **_need_** , even if it's not what they **_want_**.

For now though, the only one who has either of those things, is him. Certainly Davy has _nothing_ as of right now, he can hear the other wrestler whining somewhere behind him, can hear the ref fussing over him.

Not that Davy **matters** anymore.

He laughs softly, staring at his _**distorted reflection**_ in the belt face, running a hand through clammy hair and barely registering Jimmy calling something out.

Nothing but _this_ matters.

_This_ , that he's fought so **long** and so **hard** for.

_This_ , that is _everything_ he has ever **wanted** or - ** _needed_** -

He closes his eyes and buries his face in the belt, swallowing against the painful lump in his throat.

(why doesn't it _feel_ -)

He jerks his head up as someone else approaches, but relaxes when he sees Corino, **_ignoring_ ** the slight disappointment clawing it’s way up his throat to pool at the corners of his eyes.

He cocks his head, running his fingers over the sharp edges of the belt, waiting.

- _here we stand, at the **beginning** , friend. join me?_-

Corino comes forward and he comes up off the mat to meet him halfway, wrapping him in a hug that squeezes the breath right out of him until he is sure that he will choke on all of - _ **everything**_ -

- _well then, **shall** we?_ -

He smiles and he knows that it is all teeth and vicious promises of **darkness**.

He is the _champion_ and he doesn't have to _pretend_ anymore.

He doesn't have to act like he is any better than **Wrestling's Worst Nightmare**. He doesn't have to try and _make friends_ or **keep promises** or try to be a **_good person_** for the **sake** of-

He hefts the title above his head and reaches up to clutch at Corino's shoulder, pulling in a deep breath as he closes his eyes against the hot tears that spill over the corners, getting stuck in his eyelashes.

fuck

“Help me _ruin_ them?" he mutters into Corino's collar bone, digging his thumb into the other man's shoulder.

“Together." Corino agrees quietly, a promise in his voice.

He grips the title and pushes it higher in the air, opening his eyes to flash Jimmy a nod. Jimmy grins wickedly around that damned railroad spike and he feels something settle in his gut.

It feels heavy and slightly painful and he wonders what it means briefly, before the **roaring** of the crowd breaks its way through his adrenaline fueled shock and he loses all sense of thought beyond how _electric_ he feels.

- _let the **darkness** reign_ -

* * *

He had _forgotten_ how much **_he burns_**.

**All** the _time_.

Every **touch** is like putting a hand on a lit burner. Every heated glare is like staring right into the sun in the middle of a scorching summer day.

He _forgot_ how much it **_hurts_**.

He wonders if **_he_ ** feels this way, if **_he_ ** feels the **_ache_ ** and the burning _**need** _ and the desperate _**want**_.

He wonders if **_he_ ** can tell how much it is **affecting** him.

He pushes _**him** _ out of the ring with his foot, only to find out that he can feel the **burn** through his _fucking boot_ and that _**him** _ being out of sight just makes his skin crawl as **_he_ ** watches him.

Always watching him. Like he's worth watching. Like **_he_ ** wants to watch him. Like _maybe_ -

( _no_ )

(he **freed** himself long ago. **_this_ ** shouldn’t even _happen_ anymore)

- _can't free yourself from something that was **never** anything other than **a choice you wanted to make**_ -

( **NO** )

He pushes and **_he_ ** pushes back an _**they** _ fight each other more than **_they_ ** fight their opponents.

- _it hasn't been **they** for a **long** **time**_ -

And _then **he** _ goes and shoves him out of the way and _why_ -

- ** _forever_** -

What is he supposed to do with **_that_**? **_That_ ** was **_they_ ** and they are not **_they_ ** anymore. They were never really **_they_ ** to begin with, he just bullshitted himself into thinking that it _could_ be **real** if he just fucking changed **_everything_** about himself for someone else who-

-who admittedly never _asked_ him to change anything. But **still**.

It was _implied_.

Right?

...he **maybe** doesn't hit him as hard the next time he gets a tag.

He also maybe tells **_him_** another _truth_. A _truth_ he maybe shouldn't have said out loud, but a _truth_ none the less. They lost and what he should be doing is beating the **_scrawny punk_** into the canvas, for costing him again just like all those years ago when they were **_they_ ** and nothing **_hurt_ ** quite like it does now-

He grabs a mic and, feeling simultaneously _hollow_ and full of the **purest light** , he utters the **_truest words_** he's ever spoken ( _again_ ) and the first true thing that he has said to **_him_ ** in what feels like a _lifetime_.

He hops out of the ring with **_their_ ** sweat drying on his **skin** and **_his_ ** tear filled eyes on his back and the whole world seems to _shake_ with the force of **_their_ _grief_**.

As he _walks away_ , he realizes that he already _misses_ the way they used to **burn** together.

* * *

The crowd goes from joyous celebration to speechless horror so fast it almost gives him whiplash. He would look up, but it has been a **_long time_** and he just kind of wants to enjoy the **moment** for a while.

_**He** _ still hasn't really processed what just happened yet. **_He_ ** just lays there, _prone_ and **vulnerable** , completely **_defenseless_**.

- ** _missed this_** -

He draws in a sharp breath and looks up to the crowd, who all seem to be torn between **fear** and _outrage_ at this point.

He wonders briefly if they will try to save **_him_** -

(of course they won’t, the **cowards**. better **_him_** than _them_ )

He looks back down as **_he_ ** groans softly. **_He_ ** hasn't moved much, is just laying there, looking up at him, **_his_ ** face scrunched up in pain, the title sprawled beside **_him_**.

He could just take it **now** and _leave_.

He **reaches** down, breaths in that _forlorn_ look, the pleading in **_his_ ** eyes that scream so many _long forgotten_ moments that he **remembers** so well-

- _why_ -

- **don’t** -

- ** _stop_** -

- _I **lo**_ -

-before wrapping his **hands** around **_him_** -

- _it has been **so long**_ -

-and _does_ what he came here to **do**.

The crowd is furious by this point, their anger vehemently directed at him for - _ruining_ \- and - **destroying** \- and -why _would_ you- and -how **could** you- and -he is **_everything_** -

He pulls in a sharp breath, flexing his jaw as he watches _**him**_ , the way **_he_ ** is sprawled out, so unlike **_him_ ** only moments ago. **_He_ ** was so **happy** , so _carefree_.

And why wouldn't _**he** _ be? Everything **_he_ ** wanted was **_his_** , only heartbeats ago. **_He_ ** had **_his_ ** fans and **_his_ ** precious little friends and **_his_ ** lucrative WWE contract and **_his_ ** shiny fucking title and-

He **breaths**.

Regal stares at him like he is a rabid, unchained, slavering dog that is moments away from biting his dick off.

Admittedly, Regal might not be _too_ far off there.

He contemplates staying, watching some more. He forgot what **_this_ ** felt like, to hold fireflies in his hands, watch them merrily crawl around for a moment before **crushing** them to a mulchy paste, their _light_ forever snuffed out by **_his fingers_**.

He stares for a moment longer, ignoring Regal entirely in favor of watching the face **_he_ ** makes as **_he_ ** lays there, seemingly _paralyzed_.

Because of the **pain** or because of - ** _again_** \- he is not sure.

He walks to the back and _waits_ for what he knows is coming.

(he _**missed** _ this)

* * *

Watching the clueless idiots scamper around trying to stop him, while freely giving him the **exact** things that he wants from them is quite amusing, he has to admit.

Really, how stupid can a person be?

Well, he is perhaps giving himself too much credit. He's certain that **_he_ ** at least knows exactly whats going on, **_he_ ** is just helpless against the **_pull_**.

They **_both_ ** are.

At least that is proof that they both _feel_ it.

Not that **_he_ ** is feeling much of anything, besides _pain_ right now, though  _ **he** _ has only  ** _himself_** to blame for that.

(if **_he_ ** would just stay down, this would have been **over** already)

- _as **if**. he'll **never** let you go **that** easy_ -

As if to emphasize that point, _**he** _ rolls out from under his hands, getting a shoulder up at the last second, sweat rolling down **_his_ ** body and exhaustion pouring off **_him_** like a tidal wave.

- _told you_ -

He grinds his teeth together and glares at the **_light_ ** as it _flickers_ dimly, **stubbornly** defying him-

(always fucking has to make every goddamn thing difficult. and they call _him_ stubborn)

-despite the fact that they both know how **_this_ ** particular story ends.

(fine)

“If that’s how you **want** it." he bites out, a red haze clouding his vision as he sinks fingers into **_that skin_** and raises **_him_ ** up, up, _up_ in the air-

-only to send _**him** _ crashing back down to the mat with authority. The busybody trainers are still gathered at ring side, whispering among themselves and shooting him concerned looks, but he ignores them.

It has been a **_long time_**.

The harsh beat of **_his_ ** bruised back slamming into the mat makes his heart race impossibly faster, makes him - ** _want_** \- to hear it over and **over** again. When he lifts _**him** _ up this time, he _realizes_ that **_he_ ** is making soft, wet, **choking** noises and-

( _ **he** _ can’t get in enough air to **scream** )

oh.

- ** _fuck_** -

_fuck_

He listens closely this time, takes in all the short puffs of air and the tiny, muted squeaks as **_he_ ** rests atop his shoulders, before slamming **_him_ ** so hard against the mat he’s sure **_they_ ** will break the ring.

- _there are **better** things to **break**_ -

Hell _**yes**_ there are.

He reaches down, gets **_him_ ** under his arms and tries to blink the crimson out of his eyes enough that he can get **_him_ ** up again because - ** _fuck_** \- **_he_ ** was **_so_** -

The ref _tackles_ him, so suddenly he nearly falls right the fuck over, in the middle of the ring. The little bastard wasn’t even that strong.

He shoots the tiny, zebra-looking prick a glare, buying time to clear his head a bit, scrunching up his face against the pulses of - ** _need_** \- flooding his system.

The ref hands him something and he tries to wave him off, move past him and - ** _take_** \- but then the little pin-striped dumbass is holding his hand up like the match is _over_ or something and-

Oh.

He stares down at the title clutched in his hands, coming back to the real world with an abruptness that takes his breath away, even as he feels another wave of emotion-

(glee this time and **not** ...anything else.)

-flood him, at the thought of his victory.

_Victory._

He fucking **won**.

- _of course you did. that is what you came here **for** , isn’t it?_-

He groans softly before pulling in a long, deep breath of **vindication** , feeling a savage smile rise to his lips.

He fucking **_won_**.

* * *

He curls his fingers around the middle ring rope like a man reaching for his last lifeline, ignoring the way his grip slips as his sweat coated skin comes into contact with the tightly woven coils. He pulls himself into somewhat of a standing position, his muscles screaming in protest as he labors to find that last little - ** _something_** \- to see him through to the end of this match.

He must win.

He _wants_ to win.

He - **needs** \- to win.

He **_can't_ ** lose.

His vision is hazy and his body is so tired and John is so fucking **resilient** and this is **_so much_** like-

He inhales a lung full of air that is thick with sweat and _blistering resentment_ and **callous disrespect** and **_roiling vengeance_** -

- _who the **fuck** does he **think** he is. **not** his. not **ever** his_ -

-and tries to draw up the last dregs of adrenaline that he can muster.

(can't _lose_ )

Reaching up, he grasps the top rope and hauls himself fully to his feet, standing mostly upright on unsteady legs that he knows will only support him so much longer before they leave him at John’s mercy.

Though to be fair, John doesn't look so hot either. He's still laying on the mat, looking (hopefully) worse than _he_ does and shuffling around like a beat up old man on his dying day.

Which he is. This is _his_ fucking house now and John can go hang out on the shelf with the rest of the - ** _weak_** \- stepping stones that he used to climb his way **here**.

He spent so fucking _long_ climbing.

He will not be **denied** now.

He staggers around John, leaning against the ropes briefly to get his bearings then crossing the ring, trying to work his sore knee into cooperating and keep his blood flow up.

(just one more flood of adrenaline)

(he's fucking **got** this)

Running his clammy hands through his sweat soaked hair, he glares down at **everything** that he hates, _everything_ that doesn't **_deserve_** -

- _mine mine mine **mine**_ -

(just **stay** down)

It's _over_.

(it's _my_ turn now.)

It's the **end**.

- _you can lay down and let me have it or i can rip it out of your **lifeless fucking fingers**_ -

(your _choice_ )

* * *

Why his shitty, obnoxious ass music suddenly sounds like a steady _mantra_ -

- _forever forever forever **forever**_ -

-he will never know. What he **does** know, is that he is going _insane_.

Again.

- _'going' implies that you were **sane** to start with and kid, have i got some **bad news** for **you**_ -

Why was it _always_ like this? Just when he gets away, **_he_** comes back, relentlessly chasing him around like the battered, beaten, kicked puppy **_he_** has always been, with **_his_ ** big sad eyes and **_his_ ** blinding smiles and **_his_ ** heart that **_he_ ** wears out on **_his_ ** sleeve for all the world to - ** _take_** -

It always makes him want to - ** _ruin_** \- everything about the **_trusting ginger idiot_**.

- _well that is not hard, considering you have already **done** that. **several** times_ -

And then the **_dumbass_ ** always comes crawling back for more. Hobbling back to him from whatever horrific bruises he has inflicted on **_him_ ** so that **_they_ ** can retread old ground _once more_. Walk all those old roads _together_ and rekindle what was never meant to **burn** in the first place.

And here **_they_ ** stand, for what feels like the millionth time-

(but also the first time.)

- _it **always** feels like the first time_ -

-standing across an arena from each other, the world slowing to a halt around them-

(he is pretty sure that is not just his imagination either)

(everyone else seems to have stopped fighting to **stare** at the two of them)

(he would bark at them to mind there own business, but _**his** _ eyes are alight with that _inner inferno_ that always makes him want to - ** _take_** -)

-as **_they_ ** stare at each other.

He is going **fucking** _insane_.

_**His** _ eyes are trained on him, the hazel reflecting the arena lights, **_his_ ** pale skin aflame in the spotlights. There is _so much_ -

( **too** much)

- _ **never** enough_ -

-in the way that _**they** _ look at each other. Even when he doesn’t **want** there to be.

Even now, after all the time since _**they** _ last clashed, it’s like they are back in NXT again. **_His_ ** stride is just as determined, **_his_ ** face is just as open, **_his_ ** gaze is just as _raw_.

Like _**he** _ can still feel **_his_ ** back slamming breathlessly into the canvas. Like **_his_ ** ears are still ringing with - _never_ \- and - **just business** \- and - ** _not what I'm here for_** \- and...

God, he **hates _him_ ** for it. For _all_ of it.

For _reminding_ him. For letting him **forget**.

For **_leaving_**.

And most of all, for **coming back**.

(just stay the fuck **away**. don't _ever_ leave. stop being **_everything_** -)

It’s _always_ like this. **_He_ ** comes back, with **_his_ ** glittery eyes and **_his_ ** tender little heart and **_his_ ** beautiful fucking _resplendence_ , reminding him of the **open wounds** of the past, present and future until he just wants to **_scream_**.

Or make **_him_ ** scream.

**_He_ ** already looks like **_he_ ** wants to scream, as **_he_ ** stalks down to the ring with barely controlled fury, scarcely even acknowledging **_his_ ** precious little fans even as they shriek and reach out for **_him_**.

**_He_ ** doesn’t seem to notice them though. It is just the **_two_ ** of them and the **battle ground** between them. **_He_ ** never takes **_his_ ** eyes off him, pacing down to the ring like an uncaged beast, ready to tear him apart with **_his_ ** bare hands.

A thrill goes through him, even as fury takes a firm hold.

_**He** _ looks fucking **_devourable_**.

He meets **_him_ ** halfway, **_their_ ** fists crashing into each others skulls with sharp, satisfying cracks that he **swears** shake the ring with the force of all the - ** _everything_** \- behind each strike.

He _inhales_ each one, letting them **sink** into him as he **sinks** his **fists** into **_him_**.

* * *

Everything echoes around the two of them as **_they_ ** beat each other to a pulp, smearing each other with the **_everything_ ** that they could _**never** be_.

The crowd is on the verge of rioting and he can practically _feel_ the ground tremble with the fury of their **thunderous _roar_**.

It **feels** so _much_ like-

(why does it _always_ feel like **_this_** )

He can't think properly at all and he is honestly not sure he wants to. He is **burning** , _finally_.

Ever time _**he**_ _touches_ him its like he is being set **ablaze** , the sticky sweat on his _skin_ like gasoline, **_his_ _touch_ ** like a _live flame_. Each time **_they_ ** come into contact with each other he can **feel** more and more of himself _**burning**_ away under the heat of the explosions of **_their bodies_**.

**_He_ ** is **_resplendent_** , even when **_he_ ** is _burning_ him **alive**. **_They_ ** crash together over and _over_ again, like **_they_ ** are trying to meld themselves **together** with the fires of their - ** _need_** -

**_He_ ** seems even more _luminous_ than **ever** , blinding him with **_his_ ** searing brilliance, each act of _violence_ between them sending sparks cascading across the ring as **_they_ ** wail on each other like **_this_ ** is the **_truest_ ** of all **_endings_**.

- _a star **burns** the brightest right before it **dies**_ -

**_They_ ** dance together, more fluid and in sync than ever, _here_ , at the **end** -

- _we already did **that**_ -

(it can't be a **beginning** )

(a **beginning** wouldn’t _incinerate_ the **_both_ ** of us like _**this**_ )

His touch seems to **burn _him_ ** just as much, he can feel **_his_ ** muscles spasming and jerking under his fingers, feels the way **_he_ ** tries to cringe away, against **_his_ ** own will.

Not that it **matters**. **_They_ ** fling themselves away only to come slamming back into each other, licks of flame trailing from them as they slide **_together_ ** like two ill-fated puzzle pieces.

- _ **doomed** from the start_ -

He **thought** this was done, twice now. Once so many _long_ years ago, in a place he used to call **home** , in a much smaller arena, in front of a much smaller crowd, to the _sound_ of his own **_tears_**.

Once more not _that_ long ago, in a place that was **never** home, in a crappy WWE-lite shithole, in front of the smarkiest crowd, who **_hated_ ** him so much for **_ravaging_ ** their favorite ** _ginger dumbass_** -

(not that he _cares_ what anyone in NXT thought of him or of **_him_** )

He wonders briefly if **_this_ ** is it. If **_this_ ** will finally be the **_end_**.

He **crawls** toward **_him_** , as **_he_ ** struggles to get **_his_ ** hands under **_him_** , **_his_ ** sweat soaked body heaving, **_his_ ** breath labored, **_his_ ** gaze-

(so much **fire** )

- _ **he** would rather **burn with you** than let you **escape** from **this**_ -

He licks his lips, stalking _**him**_ , as **_he_ ** waves off the ref, straining to get **_his_ ** bearings.

( _fine_ )

If he _has_ to **burn** anyway, _**they** _ might as well supernova **_together_**.

* * *

What?

- _holy **shit**_ -

I-

_What?_

- _ **pin** him you_ -

One.

Two.

**Three.**

_**What?** _

- _interesting_ -

Kevin **stares** up at Hunter, blinking, the _shock_ of the last few seconds still rocking him to his core.

He...

Hunter leaves his field of view briefly, slipping out of the ring, leaving him to stare in _bewilderment_ at Seth’s fallen form.

What the **fuck** just _happened_?

- _you are the **Champion of the Universe**_ -

Hunter is back in front of him, hand offered. Kevin stares at him wordlessly for another minute.

(oh)

Fuck.

He clasps Hunters _solid_ , **sure** hand in his _trembling_ , **unsteady** one and lets himself be pulled into an upright position. Hunter hands him that _heavy_ piece of **adorned leather** , all **_shiny golds_** and **_glimmering blacks_**. He runs his _fingers_ over the belt, staring at it, **mesmerized**.

He-

He is the _champion_.

**He** is THE _**Champion**_.

**_fuck_ **

Hunter is watching him, something like _fondness_ on his face as he reaches for Kevin’s wrist. Kevin blinks, **confused** again for a moment before he catches on, letting Hunter grasp his wrist and hoist it **_high_** -

(why the _fuck_ is Hunter so goddamn **tall**?)

-and he hefts the _title-_

( _his_ title) 

-above his head, screaming in tune with the crowd because-

(fuck yes _yes yes_ _**yes yes**_ -!)

The _gold_ is HIS and he fucking **won** and Hunter is on his side **_maybe_ ** and he doesn’t know _why_ and doesn’t **really care** because-

**_“Champion of the Universe, motherfuckers!”_ **

**Author's Note:**

> This is obviously not ALL of his important career highlights. It was originally only going to be title wins, but as we all know, Kevin loves MOMENTS and feels hampered creatively by title reigns, so I found that a lot of his relevant career milestones had more to do with cool MOMENTS and not necessarily a title.
> 
> Some of these are altered, obviously. I don't remember all the exact details of each moment so some of it is improvised. Shouldn't be too glaring though I don't think. I'm pretty sure I got most of the major details right. If not, you are free to make fun of me if you like :)
> 
> I didn't have nearly enough time this week to really go crazy unfortunately. Basically, each one of these could be several fics in and of themselves. They probably will be at some point, when we actually get to that point in the timeline. This is just a little tribute piece to the greatest main event of raw in the history of the shows existence -fight me >:(- so I had to cut my rambling short. Like, that bit about the PWG tag tournament. I could write FOREVER about all the amazing character stuff (okay, yes, and the shippy stuff too, geez hold your horses) in that damn drama filled, everyone-here-needs-serious-therapy mess, but I didn't want to focus too much on one thing. 
> 
> On that note, I got distracted so much writing this. Seriously, I got the idea and was super exited to get to the END so I could prattle on about Monday night, but literally every time I started writing a section, I would just space out and ramble on for WAY too long about completely unrelated stuff -again, like with the PWG tag tournament. For some reason, that one was REALLY hard to keep focused on. Also, all of the Final Battle ones were a pain to find a stopping place on. Especially once Kevin got started on his 'i am the night! BEWARE MY EEEEEBIL DARKNESS!' bullshit, jesus christ. I love him to pieces and Steen was _genuinely_ terrifying when he wanted to be (Owens is too, but much less often and it is way less intense) but he is such a goddamn loser sometimes.
> 
> Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go comb all the dirtsheets with every limb crossed and bated breath as I check to see if Kevin has managed to trip over a stone, or catch Bubonic Plague, or gotten heat somehow. That ugly ass belt is cursed I swear (also, it seems we are in 'everyone is injured' year number two, with the added bonus of 'everyone who isn't injured is suspended')


End file.
